


By Your Side

by winterwaters



Series: Bound [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clarke-centric, F/M, Fluff, Handcuffs, Humor, I swear it's not kinky, I'm just such trash, Post Season 2 Finale, Raven being her sassy self, Raven plays matchmaker, and I need this reunion, post 2x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke finally returns to camp, knowing it’s where she wants to be, but she and Bellamy refuse to acknowledge that things have changed between them. Until Raven gives them a not-so-subtle push.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m sure the writers will come up with something more ingenious than this, but I had to get it out of my system at least once. It started out serious before Raven intervened >:) Also, I don’t even know where to begin with the Jaha/Murphy storyline, so I just left that out entirely because I wanted to focus on Clarke. Hope you like it!

It’s a bright, sunny afternoon when Clarke returns to Camp Jaha - the same cheerful light that she’d once thought to be mocking now feels almost comforting. When she steps through the trees, the first thing that hits her is, _We have walls now._

And they do - thick, sturdy barriers that enclose the camp within, both a declaration and a warning to anyone who looks upon them. The great bulk of the fallen Ark ship rises from the center like a beacon, and the noise and bustle from within makes her feet hasten closer.

Until someone yells “Stop!” from atop the wall, and the black barrel of the rifle glints in the sunlight as it’s pointed down at her.

Automatically, her hands go up. She has nothing but the gun in her waistband, the rifle strapped to her chest, and the clothes on her back - a simple shirt and trousers, because that’s all she needs anymore - so she doesn’t consider herself particularly intimidating, but the gun stays pointed at her regardless. 

That’s a good sign, she thinks. They shouldn’t be so trusting upon first glance. Plus, maybe she still has a knife or two hidden in her boots. This is the ground after all. The guard atop the wall turns to shout below, and Clarke hears heavy footfalls as another person comes to join him.

The breath leaves her in a rush when Bellamy’s head pops up over the ramparts. Her entire world narrows to his mop of curly hair, the muscle ticking in his jaw, and those dark eyes that have taken over her dreams. She’s had weeks to prepare herself for this moment, and yet nothing could have warned her how her throat would glue together with things unsaid, how her heart would give a tremendous leap, as if straining to reach his.

He stands frozen for almost a full minute, simply drinking her in. Then he yells, “Open the gate!” and disappears from view. His voice is just as low as she remembered, but the slight tremor is new to her ears. There isn’t much time to dwell on that. The huge door begins to swing open, but she remains where she is, uncertain, even when the guard lowers his weapon.

It’s Monty who sees her first, drops everything and flies out. He hits her with more force than expected, and some of the tension in her chest eases as she grips him back just as fiercely. “We missed you,” he says.

She doesn’t have time to reply because others have come after Monty, and suddenly she’s surrounded in a small huddle of bodies, being passed from one person to the next. Over Miller’s shoulder, she catches sight of Bellamy walking to the entrance, pointing her out to her mother, whose face crumbles in relief and sheer joy. Abby weaves through the small crowd and takes Clarke into her arms.

“Welcome home,” she whispers, and Clarke sighs because it’s true, she knows home will always be where her people are. 

Bellamy is still by the gate, stubbornly refusing to move another inch. He leans against the wall, deceptively casual if not for the white-knuckled grip he has on his gun. Their eyes lock and Clarke knows it’s going to be her who caves first. 

The last time she was here, she walked away from him despite his pleas. And he let her go, knowing it was what she needed. But this time, she won’t walk away. This time, what she needs is right in front of her.

So she unwinds herself from her mother, links her arm with hers and strides forward, not stopping until she’s at the entrance. The others drift back into camp, still glancing back, and her mother steps a few feet away while she stands in front of Bellamy, close enough to touch.

He studies her, gaze hard and careful, and Clarke knows she deserves that, too. So she waits, letting him see for himself that there’s no trace of uncertainty, no doubt in her choice - because there isn’t. Her frantic pulse is only confirmation that her head has finally caught up to what her heart always knew. 

Bellamy’s shoulders slump, a quiet breath leaving his parted lips. “Finally,” he says. “You really here?”

“Yeah,” she promises, voice steady. “I really am.”

And that’s it. The gate closes behind them, and she’s home.

~~~~~~~~

She spends much of the next few weeks in the company of Monty or Raven - and by association, Wick, who she immediately takes a liking to. It’s not just because Raven’s face lights up around him or he makes her laugh - though that’s a big part of it. He puts people at ease, doesn’t look at her with awe or fear, just goes about in his blunt manner regardless of who he’s talking to. 

The others come by as well. Miller and Harper often spend time with Monty these days, to the point that Clarke begins to wonder if they’re taking shifts to keep a close eye on him. It doesn’t take her long to coax out of them that Jasper left some time back, along with Octavia and Lincoln and a handful of others, to start their own small community somewhere else.

The thought pains her to no end, but she reminds herself that at least they’re all alive, and for now that will have to be enough. She can only imagine how hard it must be for Bellamy to be separated from his sister every day - and yet he stays here, with their people. Once a week, he and a few others trek to the other camp, sometimes bearing supplies, and she hopes against all hope that one day she’ll be able to join them.

Meanwhile, her friends show her around camp as best they can between their own tasks, usher her to the sight of the new mess hall, the roped off training yards, and the hospital that’s in the process of being built. 

“That one’s all for you,” Raven tells her one day. “His idea.” Her head jerks to where Bellamy stands atop the ramparts, conversing with Miller. Clarke doesn’t really know what to say to that.

Bellamy hasn’t spoken to her aside from a few curt words each day, ensuring she has enough blankets, is eating properly, and has found a place to sleep. He’s perfectly courteous, but doesn’t spend very much time in her company, and if they are together for a prolonged period, it’s always amongst a large group. 

It hurts, more than she wants to admit, but she can’t say she’s surprised. She knew things wouldn’t just fall back into place once she returned - maybe she hoped, more than once. It’s okay, though. She’s getting used to being around him again, too, feeling his gaze on her from across camp, automatically turning towards him when he steps out of his tent before she even realizes what she’s doing. 

It’s so strange, to think that her heart has found its other half again when she didn’t know it was missing in the first place.

Nobody asks her where she’s been, and she doesn’t volunteer the information. Not at first. Only when she and Raven sit together long into the nights does she sometimes find herself talking about the new tribes she met, the skills she learned, the leaders she encountered whose ferocity rivals that of Indra, or Lexa.

Lexa. She’s a touchy topic, for both of them. Clarke doesn’t like to dwell on it, and Raven seems to agree, only asking once if she’s seen her since the war.

“Yes,” Clarke admits quietly. “Just one time. It was unexpected. And… it was enough.” Enough to bring her the closure she needed, enough to remind her that she desperately missed her own people. That she missed having people, period.

So that’s that. It’s not long before Raven starts to bring up Bellamy more and more, injecting him into the conversation in a way that might be seamless to most but is only too pointed to Clarke. But when Monty one day brings up Echo and Clarke curiously asks who that is, Raven gives a sharp, stilted reply that makes her eyebrows lift in question. Before she can inquire further, Monty abruptly switches topics and the subject is closed. She lets herself be distracted, lets them pretend they’ve succeeded.

Until night falls, and then she loops her arm through Raven’s and asks, “So now will you tell me who Echo is?”

Raven’s eyebrows draw together and her mouth twists. “A Grounder Bellamy met in the cages.” She doesn’t have to say where, though the guilt stabs at Clarke nonetheless. “She started coming to camp now and then to trade, negotiate. Her tribe lives - lived - nearby. They don’t anymore.” 

Clarke nods, understanding what was left unsaid. This, too, isn’t really a surprise. She knew exactly what she was giving up when she left so long ago, and if she’s not lying to herself, she knows it’s because she had hoped for exactly that. For him to move on from that awful period, to not be dragged down by her - with her. All he’d see when he looked at her was what she’d put him through, details that still remained unknown to her but were plainly visible in his pained eyes. She was toxic, a twisted Midas to anyone she touched.

That was how she had felt at the time, anyways. Sometimes she still wonders if it’s true. But one look at the other faces in camp reminds her that she still fights for something, _lives_ for something, and no amount of self-pity will ever help them build a new life here.

“Clarke.” She turns to Raven’s concerned expression, realizing her friend has taken her silence the wrong way.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you told me. Really,” she insists, and she is. Quietly, she explains what she was thinking, and Raven sits by her as the words pour out of their own volition. When she’s done, neither of them speaks for several minutes.

Then Raven says, “Only _you_ would manage to make that romantic,” and she has to laugh and shove her, pretending her cheeks aren’t overheated.

“It was _not_ romantic,” she replies. “It was the practical thing to do.”

“Maybe in your mind it was. I can think of a few people who would disagree.”

Clarke smiles and shrugs it off, because she knows exactly what her friend is doing. But she refuses to push Bellamy in any direction. It’s enough to just be near him again, to see him every day, to learn how he’s grown in some ways and in others, is still the boy from the dropship.

She sees the way he’s ingrained among the guards now, the level of responsibility that sits on his shoulders, how everyone - adult and kid alike - listens when he speaks, and it fills her with immeasurable pride. He still barks at the recruits, still strides around like a storm cloud half the time, but it’s obvious that the responsibility does him well. 

Being a leader comes naturally to Bellamy in a way that used to make her envious. 

Now it just makes her happy - a rare thing, in this world.

~~~~~~~~

Raven’s remarks only become sharper as the weeks go on, but they continue to tip-toe around each other in spite of her best efforts.

At night, Raven tells Clarke what nobody else will. “Abby sent out search parties every night for seven days after you left. Our people tried to go, too, but they - we - were still recovering. She gave Bellamy hell for letting you go.” When she doesn’t answer, Raven continues. “He never went with them. When she yelled, he let her, then kept doing what he was doing. All he’d ever say was that he made you a promise, and he intended to keep it.”

 _Take care of them for me._ Clarke’s throat tightens to the point of pain, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek for several seconds until she’s sure no tears will fall.

“I had to go,” she says eventually, not looking up.

After a long moment, Raven’s hand covers hers. “I know.” Then she adds, “But if you ever pull that crap again, I’ll drag your ass back here myself.”

Clarke smiles, because she knows there won’t be any need for that, but it feels good to hear it anyways. With a small sigh, she lays her head on Raven’s shoulder, their hands tightly linked for the rest of the night.

She’s still stretching out the kinks in her neck the next day when she heads into the mechanics tent and runs smack into Bellamy. His arms come around her as she yelps and stumbles, clinging to him. It only takes a few seconds, but her fingers dig grooves into his elbows and his grip tightens until they’re pressed flush together. It’s hard to catch her balance, or her breath, when they’re looking at each other for what feels like an eternity.

It’s the first time they’ve touched at all beyond the occasional brush of fingers since she returned nearly a month ago. Every nerve ending in her body is firing, her pulse trips madly, she feels _alive_ , and she never wants it to end.

Then Bellamy swallows and lets go, taking a full two steps backwards and raking a hand through his hair. He looks dazed, and her legs tremble. “Sorry about that,” he finally says, voice low and hoarse. 

“No problem,” she squeaks.

He leaves in a hurry, and Clarke stands there staring after him for a good two minutes before realizing that Raven has been watching them the whole time. A vicious blush spreads up her neck, but she makes herself take a step forward.

“Hey, I just came to ask if-”

“No. Uh uh, no way.” Her friend crosses her arms, arching a stern eyebrow. “You are going after him _right now._ ”

“What?” Her voice is back to that high-pitched squeak. “Raven, I have to-”

“Whatever it is, it can wait. Get your ass back out there.”

Wick swoops in at that moment and saves her from replying. “Hello ladies. Raven, I’m still waiting on those tools.”

“In a minute,” she snaps, but Clarke cuts her off quickly.

“No, no, you guys get back to work. I have to get to medical anyways.” She flees the tent before either can stop her, and doesn’t return for the rest of the day.

~~~~~~~~

It’s nearly a week later, just when she thinks Raven has forgotten about the whole thing, that it happens. It starts out as a joke, Clarke walking into Raven’s tent to find her and Wick laughing over something in the corner. When they look up there’s a glint in her friend’s eyes and she nearly takes a step back, only to bump into a broad chest.

Bellamy’s hands find her shoulders to steady her for the briefest of seconds before sliding away again. “You said you found something interesting?” He asks. The question is directed at Raven and Wick, who nod a little too eagerly for Clarke’s liking.

She peeks up, trading a glance with Bellamy that tells her he agrees.

But Raven only says, “I think I managed to fix an extra radio for you to take over to Octavia’s camp,” and then all suspicion is forgotten as he strides over gratefully. Clarke follows, leaning over his shoulder to hear what Raven has to say. Her long hair spills over his jacket, and though she’s listening, her eyes keep traveling to the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the odd curved scar at the base of his hair. She’s just happily noted that Bellamy hasn’t moved away from her, when she’s awkwardly yanked backwards.

A metal cuff encloses her wrist, and she looks down in horror to find its matching cuff trapped around a large, tanned hand. Her gaze travels upwards to meet Bellamy’s equally shocked eyes. Nobody speaks for a long moment.

Bellamy recovers first, glaring at Wick and Raven. “What the hell is this?” He asks angrily, jerking their arms upwards.

“ _That_ is me being fed up with the two of you dancing around each other for the past four weeks. I have told both of you, on no uncertain terms, that I would not take it much longer.” Raven shrugs. “So now you have to deal with it.”

“This is ridiculous. Get these off immediately.” When she doesn’t move, he steps closer. “How do you expect me to be on patrol, let alone _lift a rifle_ like this? How can Clarke help take care of the others?”

“That’s not my problem. You’re smart enough to figure something out. What _is_ my problem is that the two of you are complete morons when it comes to _this_ ,” she wiggles a finger between the two of them. “Besides,” she adds, “I haven’t found the key yet. So, you’re kinda stuck.”

Bellamy is fuming, but when his mouth opens again no words fly out. He looks over at Clarke, who’s been standing beside him in stunned silence the entire time. Her mind is spinning with what this means - what this entails until they find a solution. Her mouth sets in a line when she sees the concern in his eyes. 

“Raven,” she says sternly, “you have three days to find that damn key or make something that cuts these off. If you don’t, I will personally see to it that Wick is next in line for target practice with the recruits.”

(She wouldn’t actually do that, but it helps that nobody would put it past her.)

Her friend doesn’t back down, though she does audibly gulp and glance at Wick, whose smile is quickly fading. Bellamy, on the other hand, looks like _he_ wants to smile, and that’s more than enough for her.

“Come on,” he says, giving their joined wrists a tug. “Let’s figure this out.” 

It’s a long day. The first few hours are spent attempting to reconstruct their whole rhythm, so that she doesn’t yank away the same time as Bellamy after they’ve decided on a plan for the upcoming storm, and realizing his instinct to plow forward is mitigated by the fact that her steps are considerably shorter, and that basically their every movement has to take into account the other person quite literally attached to their side.

The rest of the camp seems to think the situation is hysterical. Not outright, not with the way the two of them glare at each and every person who finds themselves in their path, but it’s in Monroe’s eyes when she accepts an extra plate of food, the way Harper suddenly gets a horrible cough as they pass by, Monty sympathetically patting her back.

Even Clarke’s own mother barely bats an eyelid when Clarke sheepishly explains that she can’t work in medical for a few days due to an… unfortunate mishap, is what they end up calling it. Abby only nods and gives them a small tube of cream to keep the cuffs from chafing too badly over their wrists. 

“Did your mom just give us protection?” Bellamy asks under his breath, and when Clarke looks up he’s grinning that wonderful, cocky grin that used to infuriate her beyond belief. She smiles so widely her cheeks ache, and manages to hold in the giggles right until they step outside the sick bay. Then she’s doubled over, clutching her sides as the laughter bursts out. After everything, it feels good to laugh like this again, to the point her belly aches a little. It’s good to know she’s still capable of it.

As she pauses to catch her breath, she glances to find Bellamy gazing openly at her, his expression unguarded. She stares right back. It’s a long while before his eyes finally leave her face, but a hint of that old smile remains as they continue about their day.

Despite the cream, their wrists are still aching by the time they wander up to the wall that night, somewhat in sync but still frustrated. There is a horribly fake frown on Miller’s mouth when he trades places with Bellamy at the guard post. “Surprised you made it,” he says casually.

Bellamy grunts. “Her idea, not mine.”

“One of us should be useful,” she grumbles right back.

Miller barks out something like a laugh, then hastily shuffles away when they both turn narrowed eyes at him. Bellamy heaves a weary sigh, leaning his arms over the railing. She’s about to mirror his pose when he glances over.

“Your leg must be killing you,” he comments, and Clarke blinks stupidly. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised that he knows about her fall from the day before, but she is. Raven has a bigger mouth than she ever realized.

“I’m alright,” she mumbles, but he grins suddenly.

“Here,” he says, and his voice is so gentle that she doesn’t resist when he twists her towards him, then firmly plants his free hand on her shoulder, urging her to sit. Seeing him hunched over, her arm automatically lifts to grip the railing, letting him stand without straining the cuffs. Her other hand flies up as well, so that she’s got both arms hooked over the railing, able to lean her forehead against the slats while she sits cross-legged on the ledge.

“Okay?” He asks when she’s stopped squirming.

She looks up with a grateful smile. “Better. Thanks, Bellamy.”

He nods. Clarke thinks that aside from the stupid cuffs, it’s peaceful sitting up here with him. The descending darkness seems to encase them in a bubble, allowing them both to ease up a little, perhaps even lower their defenses. Or maybe they’re just tired of resisting, because she knows that in spite of the way it happened, she hasn’t exactly disliked being next to him the entire day. She wonders if it could be the same for him. She doesn’t ask.

It’s not long before her exhaustion takes over and her head begins to droop, pressing against the slats. The third time it happens, Bellamy chuckles lowly, his leg nudging her side. “Get some sleep, Clarke. I’ll wake you when we have to go.”

 _We. I like that._ She thinks the words are confined to her head, but just as she drifts into slumber, she thinks she hears a soft, “Me too.”

It’s pitch black when she feels the tug on her hand. Not her wrist, but her fingers. Bellamy’s hand is curled around hers as he pulls her to her feet, holding onto her sleepy form until she’s found her balance. “Time to go,” he murmurs, and she nods, her head falling to his shoulder as they make their way down and to his tent without question, hands still clasped.

But when they enter, the sight of his cot and neatly folded blankets seems to jolt them both into awareness. “I’m going to kill Raven,” she mutters when they’ve both stood there blankly for a full minute.

Bellamy laughs in surprise, breaking their trance. He pulls her towards the cot and motions for her to clamber on first before stretching out beside her. In such close proximity, Clarke is thankful for the darkness that hides her overheated face. It occurs to her that actually sleeping might be difficult now, but then Bellamy taps her hand lightly and says, “Night, princess,” and she’s still smiling like a fool when her eyes close.

She wakes the next morning with her head pillowed on his chest, her free arm slung over his torso. Their joined arms are curled between their bodies, fingers linked under her chin. Bellamy’s chest rises and falls in a steady pattern. Everything about it feels good and safe and _right _and she basks in the wondrous feeling for as long as possible.__

__The shift in his breathing makes her look up, watching him lift his head groggily and take in their state with surprise and more than a little wonder. Then he catches her looking and grins sheepishly. His head falls back to the mat._ _

__“I was convinced I’d dreamed all of yesterday,” he says._ _

__She smiles back. “No such luck. Sorry.”_ _

__The touch on her jaw is so featherlight she hopes she isn’t imagining it. “Don’t be,” he says._ _

__~~~~~~~~_ _

__The second day is easier. They’re overseeing the hospital construction for most of the morning, helping where they can, _if_ they can. It’s like their shields have been taken down, and she decides that it might be okay if the length of her arm presses against his for a little longer or she wipes imaginary dirt from his cheek every now and then. He doesn’t seem to mind._ _

__“This was a great idea,” she says to him at one point._ _

“How do you know it was my idea?” He asks. She raises an eyebrow. _Really?_ After a few seconds, he gets it. “Raven.” 

__“Raven,” she confirms._ _

__Bellamy sighs, but a smile flits across his face. “It started out as more of a clinic, but then we realized it wasn’t nearly enough room. Apparently we’re a damn clumsy group when it comes down to it. And I had this silly thought that maybe you’d see it one day and want to come back.”_ _

__Clarke’s head snaps up in time to see his expression go blank as the words register, but they’re out there, too late to pretend they weren’t said. “Bellamy,” she starts, not even sure what she’s about to say, but he shakes his head._ _

__“There’s work to do,” he says roughly, and pulls her along without another word. It’s only then that she begins to see how deeply her actions affected him, that he’s not just holding back because of nerves or some odd sense of courtesy, but because he’s genuinely afraid of a repeat._ _

__Her heart isn’t the only one that’s still healing._ _

__The thought stays with her throughout the day, makes her tug on his hand more than once or tap his cheek or level a withering stare at Raven that finally makes him smile._ _

__At dinner that night, they’re sitting up on a corner of the wall, away from prying eyes as they each take turns finishing their meal. Clarke fiddles with her plate as she debates whether or not to ask about the thing that’s been on her mind for days. As usual, it’s not long before Bellamy notices. His shoulder bumps hers._ _

__“What is it?”_ _

__She sighs, hesitantly finding his eyes. “How is Octavia?”_ _

__He’s silent long enough that she thinks he won’t answer. But then a corner of his mouth turns up. “She’s better. I think it did her good to leave when she did.” At her surprised look, he nods. “I know. I wasn’t happy about it at first. But now when I see her… she says she finally feels like she belongs, you know? That she’s finally found a place. I can’t really ask for much more than that.”_ _

__Clarke puts her hand overtop his where it’s resting on his knee, glad when he doesn’t pull away. “I understand. We didn’t part on the greatest terms, but I always wanted the best for her. She deserves it.” After a pause, she asks softly, “And Jasper?”_ _

__“He’s… he’s trying. It’s not easy, but I think O is really helping. She keeps him focused on the good.”_ _

__They sit in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes. “She asks about you, you know.” Bellamy’s gaze is steady when she looks up. “It’s not straightforward, but she’ll ask if there’s news. From anywhere. About a certain small blonde possibly taking over the world.”_ _

__He grins at her surprised smile and flips his hand so his palm meets hers, their fingers weaving together by nature._ _

__“Who’re you calling small?” She murmurs. As she’d hoped, her ears are rewarded with a laugh._ _

__She falls asleep quickly that night, lulled to sleep by the way his thumb traces patterns over her knuckles, thinking not for the first time that she could get used to this._ _

__It’s still dark when Bellamy cries out in his sleep, and her eyes fly open. His body is shaking under hers, face twisted in pain. Cursing the cuffs, she uses her free hand to shake his shoulder, sliding up to cradle his cheek. “Bellamy, it’s me, it’s Clarke,” she says, her lips at his ear. “Come on, wake up, Bellamy. Wake up.” His hand digs into her ribs as his eyes spring open, cloudy and unfocused. She hovers worriedly, stroking his cheek and brushing his damp hair until his expression clears._ _

__“Clarke,” he says her name raggedly, like it’s wrenched from somewhere deep, and without thinking she kisses his forehead, then his cheek._ _

__“I’m here. I’m right here,” she whispers. She wraps her free arm around him, and after a few seconds feels his arm slide along her back. He’s still shaking a little, but she lays her head on his chest, drawing soothing patterns over his shirt until the heartbeat under her ear finally slows._ _

__They hold each other until the morning sunlight begins to filter into the tent. Clarke lifts her head to find Bellamy’s eyes still closed, but knows he isn’t sleeping. She lets herself look at him, at the lines on his face that mirror her own, the full mouth that used to be so quick to smile, the scars that cover his skin, faded but not forgotten._ _

The thought runs through her mind, unbidden. _We must all bear this, together._ She says as much, first in a whisper, then more clearly a second time, and even though Bellamy’s eyes remain shut the squeeze of his fingers around hers lets her know he’s heard. 

__~~~~~~~~~_ _

__The third day is quiet. Rain pours from the sky in sheets, water muddies the ground, the wind lashes every which way. Clarke takes advantage of the messy weather to insist that they stay in his tent a little longer, so they end up looking over old maps and trading stories until Bellamy’s eyes begin to flutter and he yawns widely._ _

__Letting her instincts guide her, she reaches out and pulls his head into her lap, shushing his protest and soothing her fingers through his hair like she’s been wanting to do for days - weeks, if she's being truly honest. It takes a few seconds, but Bellamy starts to relax, his body slowly giving in. And when he hums a little and closes his eyes, she smiles at her small victory._ _

__It’s not long after that Raven stomps in, shaking water from her hair. Clarke puts a hand to her mouth with a warning glance at the boy fast asleep in her lap. The other girl’s delighted grin makes her flush, but she rolls her eyes._ _

__“What is it? Can it wait?” She asks quietly._ _

__Raven holds out her hand without a word. In her palm rests a tiny silver key. Clarke is surprised by how her stomach drops at the sight. She never would have thought she’d be reluctant to get the cuffs off. But it suddenly terrifies her that this careful trust that has been building between her and Bellamy might crumble once they’re not forced to stay together._ _

__Slowly, she reaches out and takes the key, but Raven catches her hand before she can pull away. Her friend is smirking when she looks up. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” is all she says before leaving._ _

__Clarke stares at the space she’s vacated before making a split-second decision. She slips the key into her back pocket._ _

__She’s regretting that choice a day later, when Bellamy all but drags her into Raven’s tent, about to blow a fuse. There had been trouble at the gate, and his only option was to either get her closer to the problem in order to help, thereby also endangering her, or to keep them both away and leave the others to deal with it._ _

As a leader, neither choice was one he particularly wanted to make, despite her continuous protests that she did _not_ need his protection. It had set off a chain reaction that left both of them grumpy, but particularly him, and ever since he'd been barking at everyone who so much as breathed wrong. Now he turns that onto Raven. 

__“Reyes!” He yells. “Where the hell is that key?”_ _

__Raven looks up calmly from her table. “Come again?”_ _

__“Don’t screw with me. The key to these stupid things,” he shakes their hands, “where is it?”_ _

__Clarke puts a hand to her forehead, cursing her stupidity. As promised, Raven denies finding the key, and Bellamy only gets more pissed off, until finally she has to interject._ _

__“Bellamy!” They both turn to look at her. “Come with me,” she says firmly, and turns to go._ _

__He digs in his heels. “I want an answer-”_ _

“You’ll get one if you just _come with me,_ ” she grits out, and something in her voice makes him stop resisting, though he grumbles the entire way. She pulls him into his tent, swallowing hard when he steps close. Heat radiates from his body like a furnace, and she wants to wrap herself around him. 

__“Well?” He asks expectantly._ _

__She’s pretty sure she’s blushing hotter than than the noonday sun when she reveals the tiny key from her pocket. Bellamy’s jaw drops open and hangs there, no sound emerging. His eyes flicker from her red face to the key and back again until she slips it back into her pocket._ _

__“Raven gave it to me yesterday,” she admits, looking at her feet. “I was going to tell you, I swear. But I just…” She trails off uselessly until his finger curls under chin, prompting her to raise her eyes again. His gaze burns a hole right through her._ _

__“You just what?” Bellamy says._ _

__For a moment, it’s impossible to find the words with the way he’s looking at her. So she leans up and presses her mouth to his, her hand splaying on his neck. When she pulls back, he’s looking at her like she just handed him the world on a silver platter._ _

__“I liked it,” she admits. “Being at your side, having each other’s backs. Talking to you again.” She offers a watery smile and shrugs. “I missed you, Bellamy.”_ _

__The words seem to snap something inside him. A strangled sob tears from his throat and he crushes her to his chest, his arm an iron band around her waist. Clarke’s shock quickly turns to relief and she clings to him, brushing her lips over the hollow in his neck and feeling his grip tighten. He’s buried his face into her shoulder so thoroughly that she nearly misses it when he says, “Missed you more.”_ _

__“Not possible,” she replies instantly, and an astonished laugh falls from his mouth as he pulls back, eyes bright. Then his hand slides into her hair and he swoops down, their lips meeting in a long-awaited union that leaves them both without breath._ _

__“Clarke,” he drops his forehead to hers, their noses brushing. “I’ll always be right next to you, no matter what. You don't need these for that, ever,” he shakes the cuffs pointedly. Then a cheeky expression steals across his face. “Unless, of course, you’re into that sort of thing.”_ _

__It’s her turn to laugh shakily, and he wipes at a tear that she hadn’t even known was on her cheek. His thumb then drifts down to trace the outline of her lips, and when they part in a small sigh, he smiles. Then he's claiming her mouth in another kiss, this one hungry and needy. Her free hand can’t decide what it wants to do first - rake through his wavy hair or scrape along his neck or slip under his shirt. Bellamy’s mouth is hot on hers, and when his tongue sneaks past her lips she thinks her knees might give out if not for his arm holding her up. She tips her head back to breathe and he shifts his attention to her neck, dragging along the skin until she’s gasping. She holds onto him with an arm curled around his neck, her hand twisted into his curls._ _

__“Clarke,” he sighs, and it’s the most magnificent sound in the world. She hums her agreement, feeling him smile against her shoulder. Then he tugs at their cuffed hands. “Now I need that key,” he begs._ _

__"Oh. Right." She fumbles to unlock her fingers from his hair and retrieve it, shaking uncontrollably when she tries to fit it into the tiny slot. Then his hand covers hers, warm and steady, and she looks up to meet his flushed, happy gaze. He presses a soft kiss on her lips, and they turn the key together. The cuffs fall to the floor._ _

__Bellamy slips the key into his own pocket with a sly grin that makes her blood sing, and then he’s pulling her close again. Clarke wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back for all she’s worth, melting into his embrace, and she knows without a doubt - this is where she belongs._ _

**Author's Note:**

> the beginning scene “are you really here/I really am” comes from the Ray/Neela scene in ER, if you've ever seen the show. It’s just one of my favorite reunions ever, and I always see Bell and Clarke doing the same, trying to keep it simple, at least in front of others.


End file.
